


How Perfect the Fates Were in Their Castings

by rougesang



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Alpha/Omega, Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-09
Updated: 2014-11-09
Packaged: 2018-02-24 17:06:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2589455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rougesang/pseuds/rougesang
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom realizes he's changed more than he thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Tom stood next to where Lord Grantham sat at his desk, hunched over a lengthy document, reading it intently.  He was doing his best to stay focused on the occasional comment made by the earl as he read, but he was suddenly finding the other man’s voice sounding muffled or far away, as if Tom himself was floating under water.    
  
 _And when did it get so bloody hot in here?_ He focused on clenching and unclenching his fists at his side to keep himself from pulling on his collar.  
  
“Branson, do you really think animals at the estate are the wisest course of action?” Grantham asked, his eyes glued to the letter in his hands.    
  
“Tom?” he asked again after a few moments of silence.  His words were met by nothing but the quiet sound of labored breathing.  
  
“Good God, Branson” Grantham exclaimed upon finally looking up from his paper.  “You look as if death could take you any moment!”  In the half-hour or so since they’d returned from walking the abbey grounds, Tom’s appearance had taken a drastic turn.  His lightly-tanned skin had taken on a sickly pale yellow tint and his hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat.    
  
The earl reached a hand out to Tom’s elbow as he stood, and as he made contact, he noticed there was an uncomfortable electricity about that man.    
  
“I think you need to sit down,” he said gently, motioning towards the chair he had just vacated.  Tom gave no response, apart from his ragged breathing, and simply stared intently at the floor.  
  
Lord Grantham felt his concern growing deep in his stomach, flashbacks of Cora lying in bed with the Spanish flu playing behind his eyes.  “Tom, my son, are you with me?” he asked louder.  
  
Whether it was the volume or the affection that had creeped into his voice, he wasn’t sure, but he gave a small sigh of relief that Tom’s head had snapped toward him, indicating his words had gotten through.  
  
His reprieve was short lived, however, as he took in the wild look in Tom’s eyes.  They appeared bloodshot and his pupils were fully blown.  Their eye contact had been brief, and the other man was now again looking, unfocused, at the floor.  
  
“I’m sorry, my lord,” Tom said with a hoarse voice. “I’m just so hot of all of a sudden.”  
  
“Sit,” the earl responded, guiding Tom to the chair and then walking briskly to the bell at the other side of the room.  
  
Thankfully, it was mere moments before Carson appeared.  
  
“Carson, it’s Tom,” Lord Grantham said quickly, before the butler could even speak.  “Have someone fetch some cold water and then call Dr. Clarkson.”  
  
Right away, m’lord,” Carson responded immediately, turning back outside the study to send a hall boy for the water.  As he walked towards the upstairs telephone, he took solace that no matter what was wrong with young Branson, the boy was a fighter and was sure to be fine.  _Truly a firebrand, that one is_ , he thought.  Not a second later, he found himself stopped it he hallway, a new idea sinking into his head.   He turned and walked quickly back towards the earl.  
  
“Forgive me, m’lord,” Carson began as he re-entered the room.  Lord Grantham had returned to Tom’s side and was doing his best to keep the younger man engaged in some sort of conversation.  Carson took note of Tom’s white knuckles as he gripped the arms of his chair, and he felt his suspicions confirmed.  
  
“What is it, Carson?  Did you reach Dr. Clarkson?” the earl asked, somewhat bitingly.  
  
“I, ah, no, m’lord,” the butler started, uncomfortable already.  “That is to say, I think I know what might be wrong with Mr. Branson.”  
  
Sensing his particular unease, Lord Grantham gave Carson a worried look as he joined him across the room. “You don’t think the flu is back at Downton, do you?”  
  
“No, no, m’lord,” Carson started quietly.  “I think Mr. Branson might be an…” he trailed off, unsure of how to say it.  
  
“Come on now, Carson,” the earl responded in a loud whisper.  “There are no ladies present, say what you mean to say.”  
  
“Ah, yes m’lord - It’s just that it’s been about a year since Lady Sybil left us, and a great stress has been known to bring out the, uh, _latent_ nature of a person.  And I believe the incubation time is about 12 months…” he trailed off again as he saw the flash of understanding cross Lord Grantham’s face.  
  
The earl paused for a moment, double checking the math and comparing the symptoms.  “By God, you’re right Carson,” he said, thinking in particular of the strange energy Tom exuded.  “Well, we can’t say this is the first time Downton’s had a man with this condition.  Let’s prepare a room in the far wing.”  
  
Carson paused for a moment to accept the tray of cold water and cloths that the hall boy had fetched.  Setting it on the table, he turned back towards Lord Grantham.  “Yes m’lord.  Should I also send for - “  
  
“Yes, yes,” the earl interrupted as he began to dip one of the cloths into the cold water.   “It’s not a pleasant thing to ask of him, but I don’t think we have any other choice.”    
  
Carson nodded and left quickly to start his tasks, and Lord Grantham returned to his son-in-law hoping the cool rag would provide him mild relief, however temporary.    
  
As the cloth touched his forehead, Tom seemed to snap out of his trance.  “What is it, my lord?  Does Carson know what’s wrong with me?”  
  
“Branson,” the earl said as he exhaled a deep breath. “I think you’re about to have a rut.”


	2. Chapter 2

Tom had caught the fear in Lord Grantham’s voice as he’d given his diagnosis.  Or maybe it was that he _smelled_ the other man’s fear.  _Either way_ , Tom thought grimly, _the fact that you have that heightened sense proves the earl is right.  What about..._ Tensing his arms against the chair he sat in, he felt a deep, unfamiliar strength within his muscles.  He quickly relaxed, lest he accidentally break the chair.  He, too, suddenly felt very afraid.

Just about everyone was familiar with the concept of alphas and omegas, but Tom wasn’t sure he’d actually met one of either since he’d been in England.  _I suppose anyone actually talking about it or admitting it wouldn’t be very English_ , he thought dryly.  S _o great, another reason for me not to fit in_.  

Usually people would find out if they were an alpha or an omega when they were a teenager.  Omegas, usually hyper-fertile females, would go on to live completely normal lives, albeit one with lots of children if they weren’t careful.  Omegas would, unsurprisingly, often end up with alphas - Tom supposed it had something to do with their body chemistry, but he wasn’t sure.  I _don’t know if anyone has even ever taken the time to figure it out all._   He closed his eyes, silently cursing himself for being one of them - for turning into an alpha without even realizing it - and then cursed himself for not even being able to return to Ireland, where it was still taboo but not quite as bad as uptight England.  
  
He thought back to his current situation.  Being an alpha meant that once a year he would go into a rut - 24-36 hours where his body took over and had no ulterior motive but reproduction.  His heightened senses, his increased strength - they were all genetically programmed to make certain that there would be a next generation of alphas and omegas.  A new fear gripped him as he thought of losing control over himself.  

He realized then that his mind was racing a mile a minute - another side effect of the rut - and that he hadn’t responded to Lord Grantham.  
  
“What am I going to do?” he started, his voice cracking with fear as he thought of all the people in the abbey, how he could hurt them.  “I should leave.  Get a room at the public house.”  
  
“You’ll be much safer here,” the earl responded confidently.  “Besides, I’m not an expert but from what I do know, you don’t have much longer before it takes hold.”  Tom’s eyes grew wide in response.  
  
“Carson is preparing a room for you.  You’ll stay there until we can be sure it has passed.”  
  
“But,” Tom started but was quickly cut off.  
  
“I won’t hear another word about it, Branson.  We’ll discuss your…condition…when this is all over, and I can be sure you are of sound mind again.  Until then, follow me.”  
  
Clearly defeated, he stood as Lord Grantham led the way to the other side of the house.  With each step he took, Tom could feel more and more energy begin to pool in his muscles.  Even if he’d wanted to keep arguing, he knew he was almost out of time.


	3. Chapter 3

The journey from the study on the first floor at the front of the abbey to the much disused guest room on the third floor at the back of the house had taken just over 20 minutes, and Tom had spent the entire walk filled with dread.    
  
As they made their last turn into the hallway, Tom took a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself.  As the stale air hit his lungs, he momentarily registered a strange scent in the air before his brain flooded with a new feeling:  anger.  He stared at the back of Lord Grantham’s head as they continued to walk and mentally corrected himself.  It was rage he felt.  
  
Somewhere underneath the tidal wave of emotion, the sinking logical part of Tom knew he was being irrational, but that voice was quickly silenced as he felt his fist connect with the earl’s back.    
  
Something in Tom’s mind had expected his victim to fight back, and he was caught unprepared when Lord Grantham instead called out.  “Carson, it’s starting!”  
  
Before he could take in what was happening, Tom found himself pinned between two tall, strong bodies and being dragged down the hallway.  He instinctively thrashed against his captors, but he wasn’t yet at full strength; his arms were held firmly against his sides and his feet could gain no purchase.  He had begun twist his body against his captors when he was suddenly dropped and shoved unceremoniously into a room.  He scrambled to his feet, seeing red, but his outstretched fists only struck the door that was slammed in front of him.  As began beating against the barrier to his freedom, he dimly registered the click of it being locked from the outside.    
  
It was at that moment that the scent caught him again.  It was sweet and musky and… _mine_ , was the only word his brain would register.  He inhaled deeply and felt his cock twitch in response.    
  
He spun around and combed the room for the scent’s source.  The curtains were drawn, making the room much brighter than the dim hallway and his eyes struggled to adjust.  He spotted a figure standing next to an open window and was halfway across the room before he realized he’d even moved.  
  
He stopped dead in his tracks, however, as a wave of recognition brought him temporarily back to his senses.  
  
“Thomas?”  
  
The man  leaned up against the window frame, smoking.  He took one last drag before flicking the butt out the window.  “At your service…apparently,” he answered darkly.  
  
Tom could say nothing.  His eyes were fixed on Thomas’ lips, the image of them wrapped around the cigarette frozen in his mind.  Another wave of lust hit him hard in his gut, and he felt his pants growing uncomfortably tight.  
  
“So you’ve gone and decided to be an alpha now, have you?” Thomas asked, the mocking in his tone clear to Tom, even in his state.  
  
Tom clenched his fists in response.  “Thomas, you need to leave,” he said through gritted teeth.  
  
Thomas gave an insincere smile.  “And how do you suppose I manage that?  I know even you heard the door lock.”  
  
Tom raised his fist and stepped forward, intent on wiping that look of Thomas’ face when a breeze came through the window, carrying the pleasant scent to Tom again.  He made it across the room in two large strides and pushed Thomas roughly up against the wall.  He buried his face against the neck of the taller man and breathed in deeply, feeling his mind begin to drown again in the rut.  Thomas gasped quietly as Tom fully pressed his body against him, Tom’s erection digging into his hip.  
  
Tom tipped his head up so his lips ghosted the bottom of Thomas’ ear.  “Last chance,” he growled, grinding his hips against the other man and digging his fingertips into his shoulders.  Thomas’ only answer was the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed nervously.  
  
“I’m going to hurt you,” Tom said quietly, half promising, half pleading.    
  
“I know,” Thomas whispered back.  
  
The slight smell of tobacco on the other man’s breathe brought the sensual image of him smoking back into Tom’s brain, and the last remaining bit of his rational self was lost in an instant.  
  
 _More_ seemed to be the only word his brain could comprehend as he pressed himself even harder against the other man.  His fine motor skills abandoned by his rut, he began to claw and rip at Thomas’ livery, needing to feel, touch, taste more of his skin.    
  
In an attempt to salvage some aspect of his uniform, Thomas joined him in the pursuit, peeling his jacket off and making quick work of the buttons.  Content that layers were falling away, Tom shifted his hand upwards, pulling Thomas’ mouth down to his into a crushing kiss.  The taller man’s crimson lips opened pliantly against his own, and Tom reveled in the taste of him.  _Mine_ , he thought as their tongues battled for space in Thomas’ mouth.  As they broke apart for air, Tom dipped down quickly, catching Thomas’ thigh in his right hand, and he pulled the leg up around his waist.  The new position brought them even closer together, Tom’s erection now grinding directly against the other’s.    
  
He tipped his head up quickly to catch Thomas’ gasp in another hard kiss,  further motivated by how hard Thomas was as well.  Thomas was down to just his undershirt now and Tom quickly divested him of it as he began to plant open mouthed kisses down the other man’s jaw line, savoring the taste of his skin as he went.  His hands roamed Thomas’ chest and back, intent on touching every inch of him.  Thomas let out a low moan as Tom found his nipple and squeezed.    
  
 _More._      
  
Tom’s alpha-strength allowed him to pick up Thomas as if he were light as a feather and throw him on the bed.  Without taking his eyes off Thomas, he ripped himself out of his suit in seconds, with no remorse for the fine clothes.  His cock was rock hard and bobbed against his stomach as he leaned over to strip Thomas of the clothes off his lower half.  The beauty of the pale skin before him, contrasting with the smattering of dark hair on it, was not entirely lost on Tom, even in his state.  His eyes traveled wantonly up Thomas’ body, and he began to touch himself as he took in the lengthy cock before him, tip glistening already with wetness.  He continued up to see the black pools of Thomas’ eyes swelling up the last bit of silver, his mouth open in a silent moan.  
  
 _Mine._  
  
He crawled onto the bed, hooking Thomas’ legs over his shoulders, and folding Thomas in half as he leaned down to taste his mouth again.  The scent, the taste of the other man, the heat of them finally lying skin to skin caused all of Tom’s instincts to kick into full-drive.  He heard nothing but white noise as he lined up cock up with Thomas’ hole - he found it slicked open, as if Thomas had been expecting this - and he sank home in one motion.    
  
He set a brutal pace from the beginning, and now that he’d started, he knew he couldn’t stop until it was over.  He felt hands clawing at his chest, pushing him away.  He pinned them both above Thomas’ head and fucked down harder, pushing him deep into the bed below them.  Thomas’ face was tipped back, his eyes screwed shut and his mouth open wide in either a moan or a scream, he couldn’t tell which; the roar of the rut blocked everything else out.  
  
Still using one hand to hold Thomas’ hands above his head, he trailed the other down the man’s body and wrapped it firmly around his throbbing cock.  He set a rhythm of strokes that matched his thrusts and he quickly felt the body below him go rigid as it spilled its seed over his fingers and on his stomach.  As he came, Thomas’ muscles tightened up around Tom, and he too came with a howling fierceness.  
  
He continued to thrust into the beautiful, pale man below him as he emptied himself inside him.  He buried his face in Thomas’ neck, inhaling his scent again, his feral nature reveling in the fact that he was marking the man as his.  He whined against Thomas as the thought kept him rock hard, and he began to fuck into him all over again.  
  
The rest of the day and night passed in a blur of more of the same:  Flipping Thomas over and over, finding every angle to take him.  Tom’s fingers dug tight into arms, back, shoulders, thighs, leaving trails of purple bruises against the pale skin below him.  Pining him face down into the bed to muffle his cries when he tried to crawl away from Tom’s hand around his raw cock, and Tom lay across his back thrusting and stroking until Thomas came anyway.  Tom nipping and biting, and _marking_ him until Thomas was littered with half moons of teeth marks.        
  
Until at one point, after the sun had risen, Tom felt his energy begin to finally give out, and he collapsed directly on top of Thomas as he came, still buried deep within his body, and slipped quickly into unconsciousness.


	4. Chapter 4

Tom slowly opened his eyes some hours later, squinting against the broad daylight that shown through the window.  He immediately froze as he realized where he was and that he hadn’t moved an inched since he’d fall asleep (passed out?) earlier in the day.  The memory of what had happened to him and what he’d done came back with such gusto that he felt like he’d been kicked by a horse.  
  
He winced as he tried to quickly lift himself up on all fours so he could climb off Thomas without hurting him.  The man was unnaturally still below him, and he panicked for a moment, thinking the worst.  He held his hand carefully under Thomas’ nose and relaxed when he felt his breath, however light it was.  
  
Tom scrambled off the bed and paced the room.  His entire body hurt, and he wanted a shower more than anything.  Suddenly aware of his nakedness, he looked for his clothes, only to find a completely unwearable suit in shreds on the floor.  _Shite._  
  
He hesitantly began to open the bureau against the wall, only to be pleasantly surprised to find two separate piles of fresh night clothes.  _Better than nothing,_ he thought as he put one on.  He supposed the other was for Thomas.  
  
 _Thomas!_   He turned back towards the bed, seeing for the first time the extent of the damage he had caused.  Thomas was still lying prone, and Tom gasped at how the blue bruises and the red scratches stood out so brilliantly against his paleness.  Tom noticed that a few of the scratches and bite marks looked particularly deep.  _Good God, is that dried blood?_  
  
The worst of it, however, was the clear sets of fingerprints around Thomas’ hips, including small cuts where Tom’s fingernails had dug in too hard, topped off by a rather large series of bruises that started on Thomas’ upper thighs and led onto his are.  
  
He felt a wave of nausea hit him for what he’d done, with an underlying simmering of affection for the bruised man before him.  _Must be the fading effects of the rut._   He’d never found himself attracted towards a man at all.  Not before last night anyway.  He shook his head violently.  _That was just the rut.  Out of your control._   Before he could think on it any longer, Tom moved quickly to cover Thomas’ naked form with the blankets.  
  
He then turned to try the door handle, hoping it would be open by now so he could get some hot water to clean Thomas and then himself.  It was still locked.  He began to bang his fists against it.  “Hey!” he yelled into the crack between the door and the frame.  “You’ve got to let me out now!”  
  
“Shhhh” came a noise, barely above a hiss, from behind him.  Tom spun quickly in place, looking towards the bed.  Thomas hadn’t moved at all, but his eyes were cracked open slightly.  “You’retooloud” he mumbled, mouth half blocked by his pillow.    
  
Affection hit Tom so hard in his stomach, he felt as if he were going to double over from it.    
  
“Thomas!  I…I can’t… I’m so sorry,” Tom stuttered, feeling his voice breaking.  “Can I get you anything?  Do you want your clothes?”    
  
“Water,” he rasped out, flicked his hand in the direction of the opposite wall.    
  
Tom moved as quick as his sore body would let him, unbelieving that he hadn’t noticed water had been carefully left in the room and that he hadn’t noticed how dehydrated he was as well.  
  
He returned to the bedside with two glasses, carefully bringing the first to Thomas’ lips and holding it as he drank until his own hand gingerly came up to grasp it.  Tom held in a small gasp as their fingers brushed; his hand tingled where they had made contact.    
  
He held his breath as he searched his body for a sign that the rut was not over, and he exhaled deeply when he found nothing.  Taking a sip of his own water, he felt punched in the stomach again when he saw Thomas wince as he moved to set down his cup.    
  
“Are you okay?” Tom asked quietly, afraid of the answer.  
  
Thomas stared at the pillow for a moment before shaking his head no.  Before the answer could truly register in Tom’s still foggy brain, Thomas rolled slowly onto his side and patted the area in front of him on the bed.  “Come’ere.”  
  
Tom walked up the bed, feeling like there wasn’t much he wouldn’t do for Thomas at this point.  He turned to climb into the bed but stopped when Thomas reached out and tugged on his shirt.    
  
“Take this off first.”  
  
Without hesitating, Tom pulled the night shirt over his head and looked back down towards Thomas.  He nodded, and Tom crawled into the bed beside him, so that they were lying back to front.  He felt Thomas scoot up behind him, and he leaned back so they were as flush against each other as spoons in a drawer.  “Now I’m okay,” Thomas said quietly as he wrapped his arm around Tom’s waist and laid his head against his shoulder.  “They won’t be back for hours, so let’s get some more sleep, yeah?”  
  
Tom nodded, his voice caught in his throat.  He pulled Thomas’ hand up against this chest and held it in his own.  He was lulled back to sleep by the light breath on his shoulder.  
  
  
———  
  
  
When Tom woke again, it was twilight outside.  He’d been gently pulled from his sleep by Thomas, still curled tightly behind him and running this thumb in small circles on his shoulder.  Tom smiled when he realized he was still holding Thomas’ other hand in front of him.    
  
“Thomas, are you awake?” Tom said quietly.  
  
“Yes,” came the whispered reply.  
  
Tom gently brought the hand in front of him to his lips and gave it a chaste kiss.  The motion brought Thomas’ scent upon him full force, and only this time, it filled his body with a comfortable warmth.  Smiling to himself again, he began to roll over so he was facing the other man, keeping his hand in his.  
  
He was pleased to see that Thomas was much more alert this time, his silver eyes sparkling brightly in the dusk.  His smile faltered, however, when he took in the rest of his face - a split lip and bruises along his jaw line that continued dangerously onto his neck.  
  
“My God,” he whispered.  “How could I have done that to you? Thomas, I’m sorry…” he trailed off as he felt his eyes begin to well up.  He dropped his gaze as he felt tears leaking onto his cheek.  
  
“Hey,” Thomas said quietly, his hand tilting Tom’s chin back up so they were eye-to-eye again, and swept his thumb up to wipe away the tear  “I’m alright.  It must look worse than it is, is all.”  Tom still avoided his eyes.    
  
“Tom, look at me.”  
  
Tom felt his heart grow as Thomas said his name, and quickly met his gaze with a small smile.  “I don’t think you’ve ever called me Tom before.”    
  
Thomas smiled back.  “No, I don’t suppose I have,” he paused before continuing.  “I need you to know a few things though, okay?”  Tom nodded.  “First of all, I’m okay.  _I promise_ ,” he added after Tom gave him a skeptical look.  “I’m fairly certain you didn’t break anything, and everything else will heal.”  
  
“Secondly,” he continued before Tom could argue him on point one, “I don’t think you should be so hard on yourself.  I, uh… I have a feeling that your first time with….this… is worst than most alphas.”  
  
He could see a faint blush rising in Thomas’s cheeks, and suddenly Tom felt like he had more questions than answers.  
  
“Thomas,” Tom started hesitantly.  “Why were you here?”  
  
Thomas dropped his gaze as his blush deepened.  “Lord Grantham thought it would help.  If you’re with an…someone else, it’s supposed to make the rut go faster, and it’s safer than being on your own.”  
  
Tom thought this over for a second.  “But why you?”  Thomas didn’t answer.   “Are you… are you an omega?”  Thomas nodded.  
  
“Is that why you smell so bloody good?”  
  
Thomas laughed.  “You don’t smell half bad yourself.”  
  
Tom thought for another moment.  “But how did Lord Grantham know…”  
  
Thomas sighed.  “About a year and a half ago, a guest stayed here who found himself in a similar….situation as you.  I’d been acting as the guest’s valet, and he, uh….well he also thought I smelled good.  He explained his situation to Lord Grantham, and he and Carson thought it would be best that I continue to…ah… to continue to see to the guest’s needs, so to speak.”  
  
Tom felt a sudden burst of jealousy and protectiveness.  “Did he hurt you?”  
  
Thomas gave a forced laugh.  “No… at least not much.”  He dropped his gaze again.  “I don’t think he and I had the same….connection…that you and I seem to.”  
  
 _Why is Thomas being so bloody cryptic?_ Tom thought, but he had to attend to his jealousy before he could follow up with his other line of questioning.  “And were there others?”  
  
Thomas studied his hands.  “Alphas?  No.  At least not that I know of.  I’ve only been…this way since after the war.”  
  
“How did you figure it out?”  
  
Thomas laughed quietly, but genuinely this time.  “Honestly?  It was Sybil who told me, when we were working at the hospital together.”  Thomas stopped there, feeling second-hand the raw emotion Tom experienced at her name.  
  
“My Sybil?” Tom asked, eyes welling up again.  “Was…was she…like that too?”  
  
“No,” Thomas said quickly.  “No, and I know she would have told you.  She helped me because she’d been taught to look for the signs when she was studying to be a nurse.”  He squeezed Tom’s hands.  “She was a beautiful person.  Inside and out.  I cared a great deal for her,” he finished.  
  
“I can’t believe I’m lying here, talking about her, when we just…we…” Tom began to pull away.  
  
“Tom,” he started, tightening his grip on the other man.  “This doesn’t replace what you had with her.  Nothing could,” he said soothingly.  “But isn’t this likely because of her?  If that’s true, you must have cared for her a very great deal.”  
  
Tom stayed silent, as he was certain they both knew it to be the truth.  But one thing Thomas said still nagged at him.  “But why do you think this was harder for me than most?”  
  
Thomas blushed again and brought his hand up over his shoulder, as if he was feeling for something.  Tom pulled him forward so he could see what Thomas was touching.  He gave a small gasp when he saw the deep teeth marks there, covered in places with dried blood.   “Don’t,” Thomas started, when Tom opened his mouth for another apology.  “Do you know why they are…or I guess we are… called alphas and omegas?”  
  
Tom thought for a moment but admitted he had just always accepted the names and not asked why.    
  
“Because ‘alpha’ means beginning and ‘omega’ means end.  Meaning that when both are together, there isn’t a need for more,” Thomas said, drawing a small circle in the air with his finger.  “It’s complete.”  
  
“Okay…” Tom said slowly.  “How does that give me a free pass to make you bleed?”  
  
“Well, it doesn’t,” Thomas answered but continued on before Tom could interrupt again.  “But you weren’t _trying_ to hurt me.  You were just doing what your instinct told you to.”  
  
“And what’s that, then?”  
  
“Mark me.”  
  
“What?” But even as Tom asked the question, he had a faint memory of the same thoughts in his head.  _Mine._  
  
“Everything I’ve ever read, although I admit I wish there was more available, says that _that_ only happens when it’s a match.”  
  
“So we’re…”  
  
“We are.”  
  
“Did you know?”  
  
“I could sense it the second you walked across the room.”  
  
“Is that why you let me…?”  
  
“Yes.  I couldn’t have left if I’d wanted to.”  
  
They both suddenly froze as someone made a point of loudly unlocking the door and then noisily walking away.  They exhaled at the same time.  “Had to have been Carson, poor bloke,” smiled Thomas.  “And it sounds like we’re free.”  
  
“So now what?” asked Tom, scooting closer to Thomas again.  “I’m not sure I want to leave.”  
  
“Mmm,” murmured Thomas, “I think I’d be alright staying here a bit longer.  But we’re both going to need a shower soon.  And some food.”  
  
“And then?”  
  
“And then,” Thomas said, poking Tom playfully in the ribs, “I think you should let me sleep in your big bed with you.  Everything else can wait until tomorrow.”  
  
———  
  
  
As Tom lead Thomas slowly down the hallway that night, he shook his head slightly as he smiled at how it had all worked out.  He’d known for some time now that after Sybil, he could never have been with another woman.  Not in a hundred lifetimes, however, would he have guessed his omega would be a man, let alone Thomas.  But how perfect the fates were in their castings, as no other person knew his Sybil like he did and who else outside the family would care for Sybbie the way he already did?  It finally felt like the circle was…complete.  
  



End file.
